


Master Chef

by gulkote



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Cooking, Cooking, Gen, RIP Hank's stove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 13:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15316707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gulkote/pseuds/gulkote
Summary: Hank’s expecting Connor is going to tell him the exact nutritional value of his food, fat content, calories per serving. All the other dishes he could have got that would have been better for him instead. Give him the location of all the restaurants in the vicinity that would have given him something healthier for the same price. The usual concern for his well-being.Instead he almost chokes on noodles when Connor says, “Lieutenant, let me make you dinner tomorrow night.”__Y'all writing these cute fics where Connor makes perfect food for Hank but consider: what if he's bad at it





	Master Chef

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't @ me about how stove disasters happen, I know, I took physics, I just want this ok
> 
> ALSO: this isn't really supposed to be shippy, but I think it could be read both ways? I ain't gonna yuck your yums

It’s Thursday and it’s a date night with the pile of paperwork that Hank has been ignoring for 4 days. Just him, 3 inches of paper, chinese takeout, and Connor’s disapproving stare.

Hank is long past trying to get Connor to go do something instead of staying to keep him company. It’s been months since he was officially hired on the force, and no amount of cajoling will get him to go try something new without Hank. Occasionally Connor will go and walk/let Sumo out for him, which Hank appreciates and Sumo loves. But if it’s going out to do an “activity’, Connor simply will not do it without Hank with him. Sometimes Hank feels like he’s adopted a second, incredibly needy (but less drooly), dog. A dog that is looking regretfully at Hank’s takeout box.

Connor catches Hank’s  _ I know you don’t approve but I’m hungry, it’s eight pm, and my fridge is a barren wasteland _ look, and gives his own small sigh of  _ I know, but it could have more nutritional value. _

Connor’s eyes get a little unfocused, and he goes perfectly still.  _ Analyzing the food, _ Hank guesses. Connor’s LED whirls for a few cycles.  _ And looking something up _ .

Hank’s expecting Connor is going to tell him the exact nutritional value of his food, fat content, calories per serving. All the other dishes he could have got that would have been better for him instead. Give him the location of all the restaurants in the vicinity that would have given him something healthier for the same price. The usual concern for his well-being. 

 

Instead he almost chokes on noodles when Connor says, “Lieutenant, let me make you dinner tomorrow night.” 

In Hank’s defense, he’s in his fifties, and  _ make you dinner _ and  _ take you to dinner _ both sound similar when you’re munching and crunching. 

His voice is a little wheezy, but he eloquently croaks out a “What”.

Of course, Connor has no shame, zero remorse, is unfazed and unembarrassed, in repeating himself. He doesn’t even blink during eye contact. “I want to make you dinner tomorrow night, Hank.” 

“Why,” is Hank’s flat answer, but he already has an idea why. He’s buying more recovery time for his windpipe. 

“There are several reasons,” is what Connor opens with, his tone crisp and professional. “One is,”  _ One is, _ meaning he wasn’t going to list all of them and he would edit his emotions out of it.  _ Opening up with hard facts then _ . “There would be more consideration for the nutritional value of the meal based on your current diet. Another reason is you would be saving money not having to buy food.” Connor falters at the sight of Hank’s unimpressed face.  _ I’ve heard it already, try again _ . 

 

Connor opens his mouth, thinks better of it, closes it. LED goes yellow, cycles back to blue. “I really want to try cooking food. It’s a technical skill based on creativity and it looks interesting.”

_ There we go. You’re supposed to share those wants _ . “There we go! Was that so hard?” Hank gives the android’s arm a pat. “And the answer is sure, knock yourself out.” 

All the teasing is worth it, Connor’s face lights up with a big goofy grin.  _ Practicing showing for telling. Good job _ .

“Thank you lieutenant, I’m sure it will be a good experience for me.”

 

xxx

 

They finally escape the paperwork and the department quarter after six, Friday evening. After the grocery run (Hank insisted he paid for everything), Connor sets himself up in the kitchen; removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, ready for action. Hank gives Sumo a spin around the block. 

As soon as Sumo’s off leash he makes a beeline for the kitchen and sits at Connor’s feet. Hank follows a little more slowly.

“Are you sure you’ve got everything you need?” Hank sounds almost as naggy as Connor. “I’m gonna have a quick shower, alright?” 

Connor has every ingredient already portioned out, cut neatly, and waiting beside the stove. If he got anymore excited, he would probably start vibrating.

“Spaghetti is not supposed to be overly difficult. I’m sure there will be no problems,” Connor says with confidence. “That is...if your stove still works through the neglect you’ve shown it.” 

Hank rolls his eyes.  _ Nice one. He’s feeling confident. _ “I’ll be out in 10 minutes,” he points an authoritative finger at Connor. “Don’t feed Sumo any people food.”

Connor nods enthusiastically, which means he’s going to give him bits of mushrooms as soon as Hank’s back is turned. Hank lumbers off to the bathroom.  _ I’ll be gone for a whole 10 minutes. It’ll be fine. _

 

Hank is fully ready to relax after he’s clean and in sweatpants and an ancient band t-shirt. “How are things coming along, Con-” and the rest of it dies in his throat as he’s met with whatever the fuck is currently happening in the kitchen.

Everything is  _ not _ fine.

Everything is not fine, because his stove is on fire. 

It’s not the stove, it’s whatever is in the pot. There is a two foot column of flame coming out of the pot. The pot Connor is staring at with an offended expression. The pot Connor is standing  _ right beside _ .

“Connor  _ what the fuck _ ,” is what Hank manages to get out before lunging towards him. Connor however appears otherwise unconcerned about the pillar of fire, and smoothly puts the lid back on the pot, turns off the stove, and takes two steps back to join Hank. 

“Lieutenant, I’m sorry, the water for the pasta caught on fire.” Connor’s voice is devoid of emotion. Analyzing what led to the outcome. LED spinning red. 

Hank is giving him a quick pat down. “Are you ok? You’re not hurt right? How the fuck did. HOW.”

“I am uninjured.” Connor is still visibly stoic, he’s even stopped his fake breathing. His voice betrays him with a slight stutter, “I’m following the recipe.”

_ Scared and embarrassed. Only his pride is hurt. _ Hank concludes, sighing.  _ Crisis averted, mistake made, lesson learned _ . “Hey,” Hank says softly, giving Connor a one armed hug. “It’s fine. You’re fine, nothing’s on fire anymore. You’re trying something new and sometimes shit happens.”

Connor is slowly relaxing, LED spinning from red to yellow. His shoulders loosening one centimeter at a time. In a very soft voice Connor calls out, “Sumo, I’m sorry for scaring you. You can come out.” The answering whine comes from under the table. How the dog has wedged himself between all the chairs, Hank can’t guess. 

It seems Sumo had the right idea of staying under the table for thirty more seconds, because the pot isn’t done being the centre of attention. The pot has decided to do three more things, all at the same time. And it all starts with a bang. 

The lid from the pot explodes off, ricocheting off the rangehood and embedding itself sideways into the ceiling. Since the pressure was pushing up on the lid, the opposite pressure was exerted on the bottom of the pot. The pot ramms itself down onto the stove top, crushing through the oven. The boiling water inside, falls onto the stove; splashing everywhere.

Both of them are underprepared for these three glorious actions, and they both freak the fuck out accordingly. 

“ _ Holy shit _ ,” Hank wheezes out. He can’t articulate much more than that, staring at the wreckage of his stove. And then he starts laughing. It’s hysterical laughter, but seeing CyberLife’s best and brightest get defeated by a pot of water is fucking great.

Connor’s voice is small and strained. “Hank, this is the most embarrassed I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

**Author's Note:**

> hank: so did the sauce turn out or what  
> connor: no, it became a solid brick of tomato paste and it's stuck in your pot  
> hank: oh boy


End file.
